He looked up, watching the white flakes falling. “I’ll be.”
“I’ll be?” She laughed. “What does that mean?”
He grinned at her. “No idea.”
She kept laughing. Her heavy curls hung around her shoulders, her navy blue pullover clung to her curves, and she was laughing. With him. In the snow. And the vision took his breath away. He cleared his throat, tore his gaze away and led her across the street to the bakery. He didn’t want to let go of her hand, of the tender camaraderie they’d found.
“Thanks for checking in on Sprinkles,” she said, opening the door and standing aside.
He followed her in. “She’ll be feeling better soon. Not tomorrow, though.” He smiled. “Have fun?”
She nodded, looking at him with a sudden intensity. “Annabeth likes to remind me to stop and have some fun now and then.”
“Sounds like good advice.”
“You think so?” she asked, still assessing him.
He nodded.
“Ryder thought so, too.”
“Ryder was there?” He frowned.
“He bought me a beer.”
“I bet he did.” Women were drawn to Ryder like bees to honey. “Do I want to know what he considers fun?”
It had been a long time since he’d wanted to slug his brother, but the telltale blush that crept up Jo’s neck said enough.
“He didn’t really suggest anything. He just sort of agreed with Annabeth.”
“What did she suggest?” He waited, beyond curious now.
She rubbed her hands together. “I think she worded it something like no-strings-attached, wake-your-neighbors sex.”
He had no response for that. Part of him wanted to volunteer for the job. But the other part, his heart, knew there was no way he could ever have a no-strings-attached relationship with Jo. “And what do you think?”
“Well...I’m a little drunk.” She grinned at him. “So it’s probably something I should think about later. But it has potential, maybe.”
He smiled. “Get some sleep, Jo.” He opened the front door, glancing back at her.
“Sweet dreams, Hunter.” Her sleepy-soft smile tempted him.
He swallowed, knowing damn well what his dreams would be. “You, too, Jo.”
Chapter Five
“Pop’s Bakery,” Josie answered.
“Josie, it’s Lola Worley.”
Josie smiled. “Morning, Miss Lola. Staying warm?”
“You bet, sugar. Not liking the ice on the roads all that much, though.” She paused. “I’ve got a favor. I know you’re busy and all, but my grandson Tyler’s in a fix.”
Josie waved at the two older cowboys leaving the bakery. “What can I do?”
“Well, his uncle George was planning on coming in to talk to the kids about being a farrier for Career Night. But this ice has closed the roads and he can’t get here.”
“That’s a shame.”
“It is, it is. Especially since Tyler’s getting extra credit for bringing in a speaker. He’s having real trouble with math this year, let me tell you. Would you be willing to stand in? As an author, not a farrier.”
She laughed. “That’s a relief. I don’t even know what a farrier is. When is it?”
“Tomorrow night. I know it’s short notice and all—”
“I don’t mind at all.” She paused, thinking of her dad. “Would you be free to keep Dad company?”
Lola laughed. “I was hoping you’d ask.”
“Lola—” Josie hesitated. “Why don’t you just tell my dad you’re sweet on him?”
“Josie!” Lola was laughing harder now. “I’m not going to do everything for the old coot.”
“When you put it that way,” Josie conceded.
“It starts at six. I’ll be over at five-thirty?”
“Okay.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow night. Don’t you worry about feeding me, either. I make a chicken potpie your daddy just adores. Bye now.”
Josie was still smiling when she hung up the phone.
“Any more gingerbread?” Josie looked up into the face of Teddy Boone. He had pale blue eyes framed by thick brown lashes. And when he smiled, as he was doing now, he had a wealth of fine lines to emphasize his good nature.
Josie was rooted to the spot.
“You better get over here and hug me, girl.” Teddy waved her forward.
Josie ran around the counter and into the man’s waiting arms. “Hi, Teddy.”
“Hi, yourself.” He held Josie back, inspecting her from head to toe. “You’re a sight for sore eyes.”
“And you look exactly the same.”
He made a dismissive sound. “You look good, girl. Have time to sit and have a coffee? Or are you on the clock?”
Josie looked pointedly around the almost empty dining room and shrugged. “Coffee sounds good.”
Teddy sat while Josie put a few sugar cookies and gingerbread men on a plate. She poured two cups of hot coffee, added some eggnog and carried the whole tray to the table.
“You look like you’re getting the hang of things here,” Teddy said once Josie sat.
“It wasn’t that long ago I worked here, remember?” She grinned. “If Miss Worley and Eli hadn’t made so many tubs of dough, I’d be in big trouble.”
“Glad Eli was a help.” Teddy sipped his coffee. “He’s a good boy. But he has his moments.”
“Doesn’t everyone?”
“Reminds me a lot of his daddy.” Teddy nodded. “How’s your dad?”
“His checkup yesterday went really well. He can start walking and doing a little.”
“A little, huh? Good thing you’re here.” He took another sip, his gaze meeting Josie’s. “Planning on staying?”
Josie shook her head.
“You’re missed around here.”
Josie stared at the sugar cookies on the plate. “There’s a lot I’ve missed about Stonewall Crossing.”
“Oh?” Teddy took a gingerbread cookie. “Hunter said you’re working with the kids on their Christmas float.”
“I haven’t done a thing except tell them how nice the float looks.” She smiled. “And it does.”
“What else have you been up to? You’ve been moving around a bunch.”
She nodded. “I think being restless is part of the artist thing. But I’ve been offered a job teaching art at my alma mater in New Mexico.”
“Good for you.” Teddy looked impressed. “I always knew you’d do good things. Like your books. Eli’s copy of 34 has a frayed spine and dog-eared pages, we read it so much. It helped him through some tough times. Hunter, too, I think.”
She stared at the cookies. Before Eli hated her, he’d found comfort in her stories. And that was something. That he and Hunter shared them was all the better. The rush of heat in her cheeks assured her that, yes, she was blushing. Teddy’s broad grin assured her that, yes, he’d noticed.
“Any more stories in the works?”
“Actually,” Josie admitted, “Stonewall Crossing at Christmas deserves a story. Maybe.” It had been a long time since she’d felt the pull of her sketch pad and writing journal, and she’d missed it. “But you’re the first person I’ve told, so let’s keep it a secret for now.”
“Just me?” Teddy’s brow furrowed. “No fella?”
“No. And that’s okay.” She shrugged. “I haven’t found the right guy yet.”
Teddy’s smile was huge. “No?”
Josie couldn’t help but smile back. “No.”
“Well, I best be on my way. But I really do want to buy some gingerbread dough, please, ma’am. Something we can give our guests with hot chocolate. Been meaning to talk to your dad about letting me sell some out at the Lodge—good for business and all.”
“Is that Teddy Boone?” her father called from the door that connected the house to the bakery.
“Hello, Carl.” Teddy was all charm. “How’s the hip, old man? Time to get you an electric scooter or is that walker worki
ng for you?”
“Kind of you to offer me yours, Teddy. But you can keep it for now. Come back in a month and I’ll race ya, grandpa,” her father shot back.
She wasn’t sure if their back-and-forth jabs were adorable or pathetic, so she just stood there, hands on her hips, smiling.
“You’re a lucky bastard, Carl. For not breaking your hip—” Teddy paused, smiling at Josie “—and for your sweet daughter.”
“Don’t I know it.” Carl lifted two buckets of gingerbread onto the counter. “On the house. The least I can do after Hunter installed all those locks. According to Lola, he made a couple of batches, too.”
“He did?” Josie asked, surprised. That’s why he’d stayed late? After tending to a sick dog, a grumpy old man and household repairs—he’d stayed late to make gingerbread. And walked her home without kissing her good-night. She swallowed.
“You would have known that if you hadn’t gone out partying with Annabeth.” Carl sighed.
Teddy frowned. “Now, Josie, you need to be careful. You don’t want to go ’round attracting the wrong sort of fella’s attention.”
Josie looked at each of them, then burst out laughing. “I know. Stonewall Crossing is full of shady sorts,” she teased. At the look on their faces she added, “I’ll be careful.”
“Thanks for the gingerbread, Carl. I’ll make sure Hunter knows it’s from you.” Teddy winked at her. “So good to see you, girl. Carl, I want you and Josie to come have dinner with us. Holiday dinners are always nicer when you’re surrounded by friends and family.”
Before she could argue, her dad said, “We couldn’t impose on you, especially during the holidays, Teddy.”
Thank you, Dad. No way she was up for a big Boone family dinner, during the holidays, with Eli reminding her of the wake of destruction she’d never meant to cause. No way, no how—
“I wasn’t asking, I was telling.” Teddy shook his head. “I’ll see you both next Saturday, night before the parade and the Gingerbread Festival.”
“Well, then, I’ll bring some of my Portuguese sweet bread and some dessert.”
“Perfect.” Teddy picked up the two tubs of gingerbread. “This is gonna be the best holiday in a long time.”
If that was true, then why was her stomach twisting in knots?
* * *
THE HEAT WAS cranked up in the teachers’ lounge, making Hunter shed his coat and hang it on one of the hooks on the far wall. He made a beeline to the coffeepot. Between Mars’s deteriorating condition, the box of baby raccoons left outside the clinic doors and the explosive meltdown of one of his students, he needed a big cup of coffee to keep going. When he got home, he was going to have a couple of glasses of something stronger.
“Thanks for covering at the last minute,” he heard Annabeth Upton saying to someone. “When Tyler told me he’d roped you into Career Night, I figured you couldn’t say no. Not with your dad’s love life in the balance.”
He turned to see Annabeth and Jo, chatting just inside the teachers’ lounge. He swallowed the last of his coffee and poured himself another. He didn’t know how often he’d thought of her, eyes closed and lying in the snow, but the image warmed him from the inside every time.
“They’re adorable,” Jo said to Annabeth. “If I can just get my dad to man up and court her, I won’t have to worry over him being alone.”
“Says the woman who insists there’s no good in relationships,” Annabeth countered.
“I didn’t say that.” Jo sighed. “I said I was no good at relationships.”
No good at relationships? His Jo? How could that be? They’d fit together naturally, mind and body. He’d never laughed as much or yelled as loud as he had when he’d been with Jo.
“Because you refuse to try.” Annabeth shook her head, seeing him. “Which is a conversation for later. I’m going to make sure everyone’s checked in.”
Oh, to be a fly on the wall for that conversation. He crumpled the empty coffee cup and threw it in the trash.
“Sure.” Jo watched Annabeth walk away before turning to look around the room. She looked a little lost, hesitant. And then she saw him and rolled her eyes. “I should have known you’d be here, Dr. Boone. All impressive in your white coat.”
He glanced down at his white coat. “Jealous? I have an extra one in the truck.”
She shook her head. “No, no, no. Wouldn’t want anyone to think I could perform an emergency something on their...parakeet.”
He nodded. “Emergency parakeet procedures are pretty damn tricky.”
She laughed, surprising them both. “Good to know.”
He tried not to stare at her eyes, her lips, the way she brushed the curls from her shoulder. He cleared his throat. “Here to inspire a future generation of authors?”
“Warn them, really.” Jo smiled. “I was a last-minute addition.”
“That was real nice of you, Jo.” He hoped he wasn’t imagining the flush on her cheeks.
“You two ready?” The high school principal, James Klein, asked. “We’ve got you both in the barn. Sorry, Miss Stephens, George Worley was a farrier, after all. Not the normal setup for an author, I guess. But it’s a pretty impressive barn, you’ll see.”
Hunter tried not to smile at Jo’s sigh. She knew all about the high school’s barn. It was the place he’d kissed her until they were both dizzy. It had been a very good day. He glanced at her, unable to resist teasing her. “You ever been in the ag barn here, Miss Stephens?”
Her gray eyes went round, then narrowed. “Hmm, I don’t think so. Nothing springs to mind.”
He pretended to grab his chest. “Ouch.”
She nudged him. He nudged her back.
“You started it,” she murmured as they entered the barn. “You know that expression—if you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen.”
“I like the heat, Jo.” He winked at her. He missed the heat, her heat. He just didn’t know if she’d want to know that. Or if she’d care.
“Dad.” Eli sprinted up, his open smile and enthusiasm stamped out as he saw Jo. There was no denying the anger that tightened his jaw. “Miss Stephens,” he all but snapped. Hunter didn’t know whether his son needed a firm talking to or a long, strong hug.
Hunter watched Jo’s startled blink, the effort it took to make her “Hi, Eli” somewhat cheery. It killed him. To see Eli fuming. To see Jo so hurt. He didn’t know how to make it better, for either of them.
“Well—” Jo’s voice wavered a bit, making him press his hands against his sides so he wouldn’t reach out to her. “I guess I’ll go see where I’m supposed to be.” She stepped away from them.
“Follow me.” Mr. Klein led her to the other side of the barn.
“What’s she doing here?” Eli asked, his tone a little too sharp, too hostile.
“She’s keeping Tyler Worley from failing algebra, Eli.” He looked at the boy. “Watch your tone, son.”
Eli frowned at his father, shoving his hands in his pockets.
“Eli.” Hunter sighed.
“They set your table up over here.” Eli walked away, kicking at bits of straw and dirt as he went.
“Hunter.” Mr. Klein hurried up to him. “Would you mind sharing the space with Miss Stephens? There’s a draft over there, something fierce.”
“She’s got a coat.” Eli’s grumble was too low for Mr. Klein to hear it, but Hunter did.
“I don’t mind at all. Eli, go see if Miss Stephens needs help with anything.” The look he gave his son left little room for misinterpretation. This might not be the time to discipline Eli, but the two of them were going to have a serious talk before the night was through. He wasn’t about to let his son treat Jo with anything other than respect.
Eli’s lips thinned, but he nodded. “Yes, sir.”
Five minutes later, he and Jo were introduced to a group of twenty or so kids by the principal. Hunter sat on the edge of the table, letting her go first. It was the polite thing to do and he wanted a few m
ore minutes to just look at her.
“Hi. As Mr. Klein said, I’m Joselyn Stephens. I’m an artist and an author. Art has always been an outlet for me.” Jo’s voice was soothing. “I used to finger-paint the walls in my parents’ house. As you can imagine, that didn’t go over well.”
He smiled, envisioning a little Jo—all curls and smiles—joyfully smearing colors around the house.
“My parents hid the paint for a few years.” The kids laughed. “Once I’d learned that walls weren’t the best place to practice, my dad bought me my first art set. He was about to be deployed overseas. He told me to paint him pictures of home. So, instead of letters, I sent him pictures. He was the one who told me my pictures told stories. In time, other stories sort of popped up.”
A girls hand shot up and Jo pointed at her.
“Are your stories really about here? Stonewall Crossing?”
Jo shrugged. “Yes.” She glanced at Hunter then. “Some of the stories started right here, in this barn.” She waved her hand at the empty arenas. “I wasn’t very good at the whole animal-raising thing.”
“I wouldn’t say that.” Hunter crossed his arms over his chest, shaking his head.
“Because you’re a gentleman.” She rolled her eyes and a few kids laughed. So did he. “Anyway, this was so foreign to me. I made notes and did so many sketches on everything that went into raising animals, exercising them, and the importance of stock shows. Once I was done with college, I’d learned how to put together a story. That’s when I finished 34. And, yes, it was based on Dr. Boone’s state championship calf. The one that sold for how much at auction?”
Hunter waved her question away.
“Were you two friends?” a girl asked, the emphasis on friends unmistakable.
Hunter glanced out, his gaze wandering over the crowd. But then he saw Eli, standing by the show ring, scowling and frustrated. The way his son looked at Jo broke his heart.
Jo’s voice wavered, drawing him back to the conversation. “Yes, we were friends.”
“How do you start? Writing, I mean?” Hunter asked her, trying to redirect the conversation.
Jo looked at him, relieved. “The pictures. I have some author friends who don’t write picture books and they start with a character. It’s a pretty individual process.”
A Cowboy's Christmas Reunion (Mills & Boon Cherish) (The Boones of Texas, Book 1) Page 7
